


Stigmata

by Janusa



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Warlock Mark, with light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janusa/pseuds/Janusa
Summary: Warlock.It was a word which got stuck as many connotations as lived decades.It was a word which he’d learnt to deal through the years. It wasn’t easy at the beginning; it never is for downworlders and less for those who their stigmata betray them.When he was only a young warlock of unstable powers that caused him more harm to himself than to those who tried to infringe it, the glamour in his demonic eyes was necessary, he was almost able to pass unnoted. Throughout his life, he’d equally gotten aggressions of diverse nature. However, since he started to be known as a High Warlock (around his bicentenary) the number of beings who preferred him like ally or not as enemy, at least, increased.Although shadowhunters were another story.





	

He hadn’t stopped wanting love. He had simply, somehow, stopped looking.

—Magnus Bane. The Bane Chronicles #8.

Warlock.

It was a word which got stuck as many connotations as lived decades.

It was a word which he’d learnt to deal through the years. It wasn’t easy at the beginning; it never is for downworlders and less for those who their stigmata betray them.

When he was only a young warlock of unstable powers that caused him more harm to himself than to those who tried to infringe it, the glamour in his demonic eyes was necessary, he was almost able to pass unnoted. His other mark was the lack of belly button; this wasn’t exposed but in intimate moments, which if he thinks it better weren’t few. At all.

Throughout his life, he’d equally gotten aggressions of diverse nature. However, since he started to be known as a High Warlock (around his bicentenary) the number of beings who preferred him like ally or not as enemy, at least, increased.

Although shadowhunters were another story.

They were presumptuous and arrogant beings. Most of them devoid of charisma, always obtuse and suicide. Believing themselves owners of earth and heaven, only for that celestial blood dab coursing through their veins. Something stupid in Magnus’ opinion since the ones who had the gifts were they; downworlders, the exiles. Justly that was, sometime, one of his theories; besides of so-called order that shadowhunters were looking for and mankind sake, jealousy against downworlders was one of the reasons for what they do, at least some of them. The good Valentine Morgenstern was evidence of that.

When a shadowhunter approached to him it meant they needed something. They always put forward their requests in such a way that seemed Magnus should be grateful with them for taking the trouble of talking to a worthless being like him. Nevertheless, nothing comes for free in this life. Much less the services of the High Warlock of Brooklyn.

Putting aside The Circle and Valentine’s time, his relationship with shadowhunters had always been… treatable or rather non-existent, except for those occasions in which they’d required his abilities.

Few shadowhunters with whom he’d ever run into in his existence had really liked him and even they weren’t totally exempt from his description.

He remembered a group of young Londoners shadowhunters and how after them swore to himself nevermore meddle in the personal issues of their kind. And he did it for over a hundred years until a group of New Yorkers shadowhunters came, alike young and alike filled with problems.

From this crew of interesting teenagers there was one who did him turn a second time. Alexander, the name sounded exquisite even in his head, as much as his bearer.

Alexander Gideon Lightwood. A very different Lightwood from all he’d met, including his sister Isabelle (another interesting creature). Alec owned his favorite physical features that caught him at the very beginning, when he was nothing more than other shadowhunter taking care of their siblings’ backs.

Never could he have imagined that boy of hazel eyes will mean so much for him —and Magnus has lots of imagination.

He broke a bigger oath than the one of never relating with shadowhunters due to Alec; not to love a mortal. Because love them just shatter your heart.

Magnus had loved countless times in different levels and it always hurt. He didn’t want to think how much Alec would. His stupid nephilim, with which he’d experienced and felt even more new things, surprisingly. Among these things was that word again: warlock, only from his mouth it didn’t sound as he was used to; disdainful, with rejection or mockery. No, each time Alec whispered _warlock_ against his skin with something similar to devotion in his voice Magnus’ heart skipped a little.

 

             

 

Magnus was lying on the couch with Alec hovering over him. They were in what can be called a lazy and slow session of kisses in where the boy’s hands were holding his face while Magnus’ were busy in his nape and back. At some point, kisses were replaced by brushes of lips and looks loaded of feelings. Alec’s fingers traced Magnus’ face with the distinctive grace of shadowhunters, softly tracing the lids and the dark circles under his eyes caused by his smeared make up.

“Why you don’t remove it?” asked Alec in a bare murmur, not wanting to take intimacy to the moment, “You know you don’t need it with me.”

“I do.”

And Magnus did it. He knew was about the glamour in his eyes and he knew he didn’t need to keep it in front of Alec and it wasn’t for him or maybe it was. Maybe it was a habit or Alec or Magnus himself, perhaps was all of it. However, those were issues he wasn’t immediately attending, not with a perfect sample of shirtless nephilim in front of him. So he simply dropped off the glamour.

The corners of Alec’s mouth rose unnoticeably and rubbed with his thumbs Magnus’ cheekbones like rewarding him because of the action.

“There they are” said Alec focusing his eyes on shimmering amber and leaning down to leave a kiss in each lid.

The deed did Magnus thrill that let out a shivering breath. When he collected himself, talked again:

“I was wondering, how many people know this loving side of yours?” jocularity and fondness blanketing his words.

“Only you, indeed” conceded with plainness an answer with a background not so plain.

This time was Magnus turn to tenderly stroke Alec’s face. He wasn’t the only one who had had to hide his stigmata, so had Alec, whose stigma was homosexuality. He could imagine Alec’s conflict, always honest, hidden from his family. Disappointing the ones you love is one of the worst fears.

“Take that look away” said Alec now with his hands over the warlock’s stomach.

“But if you just asked me to remove the glamour” teased Magnus and slightly pulled a dark lock falling across the nephilim’s forehead.

“You know what I mean; the look on your face every time…” he sighed “Just leave it for now” Alec kept silent while finishing of unbutton the partially open robe.

“As you wish, darling.” He nodded and Alec just rolled his eyes, returning to the buttons and suppressing a smile that was trying to come out just by seeing Magnus so willing.

Magnus was half-lying on the couch, watching and waiting the next move of the guy. Alec’s hands were now on his sides, he could feel the calluses caused by handling weapons through his few years. He felt them on his sides, ascending to his pectorals and descending to his stomach then was something warmer on his belly. A pair of lips on his torso, a shudder ran thru Magnus along with a familiar warmth.

Acceptance. Not just his human or magical part but everything in him. And even if the next confession sounded incredible or ridiculous (given his uncountable years and lovers) to be loved as what he was; a downworlder, a warlock, was rather new for him.

He’d had lovers who were indifferent or endured before his stigmata but none of them had truly loved them, wanting to forget his demoniac side or despising his humanity as if it wasn’t parts of his self.

That night was nothing more than caring touches, no furor or frenzy. Solely calm and sheltering, a corporal display of feelings for which words weren’t enough.

 .

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you did it till here thank you.  
> So, I have a tumblr @monkeysrib just in case you want to look a thousand reblogs of Shadowhunters and stuff.  
> Hope you have a lovely day. Bye :)


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